


After the Lift Home

by Sequesters



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's barely mentioned, Love Realization, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters
Summary: After Crowley saved him (and his books) from the Nazis, Aziraphale has a realization.And an existential crisis.





	After the Lift Home

The denizens of Soho hunkered down as the bombs blitzed overhead, leaving a blanket of terror throughout the whole region that a supernatural being would pick up as a sort of thick, acrid, ground-level fog of human fear.

There was also, in Soho, one particular spike of _divine_ fear emanating from a bookshop in the area.

Aziraphale was just as scared as the rest of Soho, but only the most discerning of supernatural beings would be able to pick up that he was terrified for an entirely different reason. He had just gotten home from a nerve-wracking event that lead him to an even more nerve-wracking realization, and the implications of this were quite literally putting the fear of God in him.

He had kept it together remarkably well in the car. Oh, he was sure that he seemed a little…distracted, to Crowley, but Crowley didn’t mention it at all, given the events of the day. He just let Aziraphale sit in silence, clutching the bag full of books, while his heart beat out a rhythm that screamed YOU LOVE HIM YOU LOVE HIM YOU LOVE HIM YOU LOVE HIM and his head beat out a rhythm that screamed _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

He thanked Crowley for the ride with his head full of cotton, stumbled over the curb, fumbled with the lock—oh, WHY wouldn’t it open, curse these SHAKY fingers—and tripped over the door jamb as he frantically ran inside, panting too heavily.

The moment the door closed behind him, a truly pathetic whine left his human throat.

Oh, was he _really_? Was he really going to break down over this? Over failing his angelic duty? Over being in love with a demon? Over…having feelings for his only friend?

A choked sob wrenched its way out of him, into the quiet of the empty bookshop.

Yes, yes he was.

He stumbled forward and collapsed on his circular rug as he wept, hoping against hope that God wouldn’t make him Fall for this.

Aziraphale finally stood up again as his sobs calmed, cleared his throat, and took stock of himself by turning his true eyes inward.

Sure enough, his Grace sat undisturbed in the core of his true form, glimmering softly like a lake of gold.

Well, he hadn’t Fallen. What now?

“A cup of tea,” he said aloud, bringing his concentration back to his corporeal form, “A nice cup of tea should…do the trick.”

So he set about doing just that, heading on unsteady legs into his little kitchen.

He could have just miracled a cup of tea into being, it would have been pretty easy, but decided against it. The mundane actions of creating it from scratch, with the clinking of the cups and the whistling of the kettle, was rather grounding, and made him feel a little bit less like the world was crashing down around him.

With the mug of tea in his grasp, he thought about settling down in his chair with a nice book for the night. But he was still shaking slightly, judging by the ripples in his mug of tea, and the dual chanting of YOU LOVE HIM and _fuck _had combined into one great big _FUCK, YOU LOVE HIM_ echoing despairingly through his mind. Even though the acute terror of possibly Falling (Falling for falling, he noted with a manic little giggle) was assuaged, there was still no way he was going to be able to focus on a book right now, not when the only thing that he REALLY wanted to do was-

Oh, good Lord. He REALLY wanted to tell Crowley. More than ANYTHING. Phone him up, ask him to come over, uncork a bottle that he had been saving and-

“What am I thinking?! Stop, stop!” Aziraphale said, slapping his human forehead sharply to quit that train of thought.

He sighed, and rubbed the spot tenderly. It wasn’t his CORPORATION’S fault that he was in this mess.

“Oh, it can’t happen, it simply CAN’T,” Aziraphale said, desperately trying to reason with himself, “We are both on _thin enough ice_ as it is.”

But another idea popped into his head.

It would be a little stupid, and a_ lot_ self-indulgent, but Aziraphale was rather GOOD at being self-indulgent by this point, thank you very much. Plus, if it would get things all…out of his system, so he wouldn’t go blurting it out the next time he saw Crowley in person, wouldn’t that just be the _right_ thing to do?

“Don’t answer that,” he muttered, eyes flicking upward.

So he placed his tea down, straightened himself up, and paced the floor, allowing himself to think through the rather unlikely hypothetical. How _would_ he say it? 

“W-well, Crowley,” he said, addressing an errant stack of books as if it were the demon himself, “It seems that I have found that…I’m rather in _love_ with you.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, no, too _formal_.”

He paced back and forth, and prepared himself for another go at it.

“Well, chappie,” he said with a strained smile, “I have, um, _got_ to tell you that I _fancy_ you-nonono, that’s even WORSE!”

He pursed his lips in a thin line.

“Crowley,” he said, the name on his lips a soothing balm, “Crowley. My oldest friend. My Adversary. Wait no, I shouldn’t call him my ADVERSARY if I’m going to-to tell him that-”

He sighed.

“Crowley, there is something I _must_ tell you, it is of the most VITAL importance.”

He closed his eyes in annoyance. “Most VITAL importance?! Oh, get OVER yourself, you foolish Principality!”

He paced for a moment, slowing, and then stopping in front of the satchel of books he still hadn’t unpacked.

“Crowley,” he said quietly, numbly, “I’m in _love_ with you.”

His heart dropped to his stomach, sinking deeper than the pits of hell.

“Yes, that would just about do it, when the times comes,” he said heavily, sitting down just as heavily in his chair, “IF the time ever comes, I mean.”

And with that out of his system, he pushed that whole…_business_ deep into the recesses of his mind, compartmentalizing it for re-examination at a later date.

After all. There WAS a war on. And he still had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hanging onto this one for a little while. Glad to finally be posting it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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